After Dark
by mad-marquise
Summary: It was late. But if Ricky's intel was correct, then he'd finally reached his destination. Fitnesshawk fic.


this is the first full-length fic that i've written in a long while (woot woot!). this was done for a request that was made on tumblr for some fitnesshawk/rickybones fluff.

* * *

It was late. But if Ricky's intel was correct, then he'd finally reached his destination.

It was a bar. A bar with a cracking, crumbling exterior of black bricks and a neon sign that read "The End Zone" with the 'T' occasionally flickering. The bassline of a song, probably played by an in-house band, vibrated the ground beneath Ricky's feet. Through the dirty, tinted front windows, Ricky could just make out the outlines of people dancing provocatively.

Ricky pursed his lips.

Bones was _here_?

Ricky double-checked the GPS on his bike. Jimmy had searched and programmed the directions himself via Bluetooth. And Jimmy was very rarely wrong.

"There's only one way to find out," Ricky said to himself. He powered down his bike, pulled off his helmet and hung it from the strap on one of the handlebars. He rolled his shoulders back, stuck out his chest slightly, and made his way into the building.

As he walked through the door, he quickly began to formulate an excuse to deter the bouncer from checking his ID, and then he realized…there was no bouncer. No guard of any sort. It was kind of chaotic inside. Crowded. Dimly lit, hot and stuffy. _And smoky_, Ricky thought, gagging. His eyes stung and watered. _Whatever happened to those laws about smoking in buildings?_ He shook his head and scoped out the rest of the surroundings.

Across the room, there was a small stage with some nondescript grunge group playing a slow, gravelly song. A few yards to the side of the stage was a drinks counter.

And sitting amongst the big, burly biker men and heavily tattooed women?

A tall, slight figure, with long, wavy brown hair and a bright blue shirt.

Ricky's heart skipped a beat.

He made a beeline for his friend, pushing and shoving a path through the sweaty crowd.

_I'm coming, man._

When he stumbled to a halt beside Bones, Bones didn't even acknowledge him.

Ricky leaned his back against the counter and rested his arms on the surface. He looked down at Bones, trying to mask his concern with a cool look.

"Uh, hey, man."

No response.

"Bones."

Still no answer.

Ricky leaned closer. "BONES," he said loudly.

"I hear you," Bones groaned. His hair formed a curtain around his face, and he made no move to fix it.

"Well, are you gonna tell me what's going on?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yes, yes I would!" Ricky said, hurt. He took his back off the counter and faced Bones properly. Screw keeping his cool. "I'd like to know why I had to interrogate all of the Aquabats about where you'd gone before finally getting Jimmy to tell me. And he didn't seem too happy about telling me. And then I find out that you picked this out-of-the-way place in the buttcrack of the city that would've been a bitch for me to run to, so I had to ride my motorbike for _45 minutes_ to get here, and–"

_God_.

God, I'm so _stupid_.

"It's me, isn't it," said Ricky, smacking himself in the forehead. "I'm the reason why you're here. I'm why you've been such a bitchy bird all week." _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He felt horrible. He had to make things right. But that wasn't going to happen unless he found out what he had to make right. Ricky grabbed Bones' shoulder and shook him a little. "Bones, c'mon."

Bones lethargically brought his finger to his mouth, licked the tip, and drew a tally mark in the air, as if to say, 'that's a point for you.' With his other hand, he raised a fresh margarita (where'd that come from? Ricky thought) to his lips and took a sip. Ricky couldn't see his face, so he reached out to brush back his friend's long hair. Before Ricky's hand even touched Bones' hair, Bones had his finger clamped around Ricky's wrist in an iron grip.

Ricky froze, startled.

"What–"

"Ricky," Bones sighed, "you're only rubbing salt in the wound, here." He released Ricky's arm and then pushed his hair back himself. _His eyes are red_, Ricky noted guiltily. Then he sat up straighter, faced Ricky and blinked, as if he were seeing the youngest 'Bat for the first time. "Ricky, what the hell? This is a bar, and you're–" he cupped his hand beside his mouth and lowered his voice, "you're underage; if the Commander finds out you've been around liquor–"

"Hold it!" Ricky held up a hand in Bones' face. Bones frowned, but fell silent.

"You need to stop trying to make this about me," Ricky said firmly, putting his hands on his hips. "I'm not here to drink, obviously – all those calories, ew! – I'm here to stop you from drowning your sorrows in margaritas." He gestured at the line of empty glasses in front of the guitarist. There were three so far. Not totally outrageous, but enough to raise concern. Especially since Ricky hadn't know that Bones even drank.

Bones glared daggers at Ricky. His nose crinkled and his forehead wrinkled and it was such a fierce expression for someone who was normally the picture of Zen that Ricky recoiled inside. Outside, though? He was solid as a rock. He was steel. He needed to be, because Bones needed an anchor to keep him from sinking right now.

"This _is_ about you, Ricky," Bones said angrily, and Ricky tried not to wince. "You even said it yourself. It's all about you. And I just–" his voice cracked. He looked down at his fingers wrapped around the stem of his fourth margarita glass. He swallowed and drew in a shaky breath. "I just can't deal with it anymore."

Ricky's heart sank. This…_wasn't_ Bones. Bones was never this dejected. What had Ricky done to make him get this way? Ricky slowly reached out to rest a tentative hand on the older man's shoulder. It seemed as though Bones wasn't going to protest, so he gripped his shoulder more firmly.

"With what?" Ricky asked slowly. _What did I do?_

Bones sighed. "With being totally infatuated with someone who clearly isn't interested." He stared at his glass as he said it.

Ricky's jaw dropped.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Oh, _wow_.

He laughed.

Bones looked at him sharply. "Why are you laughing at me?"

Ricky fell onto the stool next to Bones'.

"Because," Ricky said, smiling softly. "I am interested."

Bones shook his head violently. "You don't have to pretend, you haven't liked me like that in years–"

"Wrong!"

"No, I'm not wrong," Bones snapped. He slammed his glass down. The barmaid gave him a stern look, but he ignored her. "I can't remember the last time I saw you freaking out over me."

"That's the key word, man," said Ricky. "_Saw_. You haven't seen me freaking out over you." He slid the hand on Bones' shoulder down his arm to cover his hand. He tilted his head, looked directly into the other 'Bat's eyes. Bones tried to look away, to pull away, but Ricky held fast.

He caught Bones' chin with his free hand and turned his head back towards Ricky's. Brown eyes met equally brown eyes. Bones felt uncomfortable. He squirmed. Ricky was barely blinking. And his hand was warm on top of his. Bones felt the telltale fluttering in his stomach that felt like static, or a million fireflies, or something else just as restless.

Ricky _couldn't_ feel the same way.

There was no way…

_Could_ he?

"Just because I haven't been making goo-goo eyes at you like I did when I was 13," Ricky said seriously, "doesn't mean I haven't been gaga about you this whole time, babe."

That was such a _Ricky_ thing to say that Bones had to laugh himself.

"Nice line," he said, half-laughing, half-crying. But he was finally smiling. And he was threading his fingers through Ricky's. And even though his eyes were still red, he didn't look quite so fierce, anymore. Probably had something to do with the fact that the anger lines in his forehead and face had smoothed out. Now happy lines took their place, in the form of crinkles around his eyes and nose.

Ricky broke out into a full, braceface grin.

"There's our Bones," he murmured. "Finally found you." He closed his eyes and leaned in. Bones met him halfway, and they kissed, soft and sweet. For Ricky, it felt as though he were becoming intoxicated with every passing second. (Was it Bones or was it the margaritas Bones had drank? _Was there such a thing as secondhand alcohol?_ Ricky thought giddily.) And for Bones, it was as though he were becoming sober – Ricky made things so much clearer for him.

But for the both of them, together, it was as if they had been released from a prison, free to float sky-high.

Around them, the rest of the bar partied on.

* * *

constructive criticism is appreciateddd.


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